Sick
by the singer
Summary: Mayella's thoughts before she testifies. One shot.


**_Author's Note:_**

_I wrote this as part of a school project. Normally I hate TKAM fic, but I thought since I'd already written this, I might as well post it. It's written in Mayella's point of view. _

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Sick

I'm sitting in the courtroom. Mighty grand courtroom, it is. Real fancy-like. Much nicer than the dump. This what other people live like? I wonder if there're always so many people in the courtroom. Mean, here ain't nothin' special 'bout his trial, is there? 'Cept it has to do with us. Us Ewells, I mean. Can' 'member a time one of us's been to court b'fore. Law leaves us alone, seems like.

I'm lookin' 'round. There's Atticus Finch, yonder. He's defendin' Tom Robinson. I would, too. 'S not right. What we're doing, I mean. But that don' matter much, I guess. Don' count for too much. Not when you consider… Well, anyhow, I don' deserve my life neither. I never asked to have a drunkard papa and a dead ma. Never asked to have all the kiddies runnin' round wild, neither. Jus' happens, I s'pose. The children ain't here. After all I done fer them, they ain't here. Then, mebbe that's best. I dunno. Ev'rything's so confusin'… I jus' don' know what ter think now. I don' feel right doin what I'm doin', but it ain't like I really got too much of a choice, eh?

Mr. Gilmer tol' me 'bout what the trial would go like. He tol' me bout what I was supposed to do an' all. I mean, I know my story ain' exactly whatcha'd call the truth, whole truth, an' nothing but the truth. I didn't think much of it, then. I didn't think it'd matter to me when this all got started. I wasn't countin' on this…this feelin'. Now, I ain't blamin' Mr. Gilmer fer that. Don't think no one coulda prepared me fer it. I feel right sick. Just awful. I think…I think mebbe this is what them fancy folks call guilt. I ain't felt guilty before. I'm always the victim. The trashy girl from the dump. Just a Ewell. Dirt. Lower than dirt. Invisible. Nothing. No one ever notices me. I ain't nothing worth noticin' anyhow.

"You'll be a hero in this here town," said Papa, fore it all got started. And I was an idiot. I believed 'im. Damn. Maycomb County will always all hate me. The white folk and the black 'uns. Even my own fam'ly hates me. Papa don' care, and the young 'uns don' know the meanin' of the word. I guess…mebbe that's why I did what I did. Mebbe that's why I kissed… No, I gotter remember. That didn' happen. He took advantage o' me, that's the solid truth. An' now I'm bitin' my lip and blinkin', 'cause I know that ain't _really_ the truth. But truth don' mean nothin'. Not nothin' in the world. That is…it 'specially don' mean nothin' when yer very life's on the line. An' Papa'd be right furious if I made it important up there on that there witness stand. Naw, I gotter stick ter the story. That is a mighty awful story, though. Oh, God. God, I'm sick. I'm sick. I'm sick! I can't—I can't go through with this. I gotter leave. I gotter. I can't go through wit' this. Mayella, think. Mayella, ya can' leave. You gotcher Papa. He'll kill ya if ya run off now. Naw, I can't think like that either. My papa never touched me. He's right good ter me. Dammit, I hate all this trial stuff. I wish I hadn' started it all. Naw! I can' think that either. I didn' start it. That black man did. He took advantage o' me. He did.

But God, it ain't true. Ain't none of my story true. The truth is, I did kiss Tom Robinson. N'matter how ya slice it. It's the truth. It's the damn truth. And I can' tell no one. "They'll hate you if they find out," Papa told me. I wanted ter tell him they hate me already. They hate me anyway. But I kept my mouth shut so's the blood wouldn't come out of it. And don' think I wouldn' stop ev'rything if I could. Don' think I wouldn' stop the whole trial. I would. Don' care much fer Tom, really, but… He's kinda like my flowers. Don' want 'em ter die, silly as it migh' seem. They're jus' flowers, but still. Like, they gotta right ter life. Don' they? And they don' hurt nothin', so why shouldn' I protect 'em? 'Sides, Tom was…well he was jus' so nice. So nice ter me. No one else was. Ever. That's why I done…what I done. That's all. Mebbe I should testify with the truth. Save 'im. He is…he's my friend. An' that's the truth, the whole truth, an' nothin' but the truth, so help me God. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna tell that there jury what happened. But I can feel myself crumple as a voice calls out,

"Mayella Violet Ewell!" It's my turn. An' all those nice, do-gooder thoughts are gone, lost in my terror.


End file.
